A Departure From the Norm
by GeekLoveFan
Summary: Not my normal GSR fluff-fest. A little fic about Sara and the only other person I can imagine her being with-besides Grissom.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: Background on this story: This little…thing…was hatched as I was sitting in the middle of Destin Commons last weekend, enjoying a FOUR DOLLAR scoop of ice cream. I was thinking that the last time I was in Destin Commons, it was in my mind, as that was one of the places I took Griss and Sara in my behemoth, Facades. My thoughts quickly descended into what a giant horse's ass Grissom is, and from there, I started thinking about the only other person I could ever see Sara being with. I started writing this story in my head right then and there, but I had to wait three days until I got home to actually write it down. I'm quite certain it's a piece of crap, and it's obviously not the usual GSR sap-fest that you've all come to expect from me. I just wanted you to know. Forewarned is forearmed, right?**

Standing there at the reception desk, he was engaging in a polite bit of small talk with a blonde, gum-cracking secretary, when he saw her. Sara Sidle. She was walking down the hall toward Reception, laughing at something she was reading in a file. At the sight of her now-rare, heart-stopping grin, he felt his own grin begin to form. Even after almost two years, it felt liberating to be able to admit to himself—if no one else—that he was in love with her. He wasn't sure that he would _ever_ be able to admit it to anyone else; there were, after all, some delicate issues to be overcome, not the least of which was her complicated relationship with another of her co-workers, the inimitable Gil Grissom. But for now, he was content to work with her, admire her, and when she wasn't looking, watch over her.

His thoughts wound themselves to a close and he wrapped up his exchange of pleasantries with the ditzy secretary just as Sara reached him. "Hey," she said amiably. "You staying busy tonight?"

He rolled his eyes and offered her a sarcastic snort. "Ever known me to be anything but?"

She smiled and started to reply, but Gil Grissom chose that exact moment to come striding through the front doors, hands full of evidence.

Brass watched carefully.

"Hey, Grissom," Sara smiled.

"Hmm? Oh, hey, Sara," Grissom said distractedly, barely gracing her with a look before heading off toward his office. Brass registered the barest flicker of hurt cross Sara's eyes before she replaced it with her normal expressionless façade. Inwardly, he was alternating between beating his head against an imaginary wall at his friend's stupidity and nursing a heartache for Sara and the pain that she surely nursed where that oblivious jackass was concerned.

He thought back to when he had fallen in love with her. It hadn't been an instant epiphany, with fireworks and a bevy of sopranos from the Met singing Handel in the background. No, it had been gradual—gradual and so subtle he hadn't even realized it was happening until it was done. Sara had worked her way into his heart, slowly, easily—as if she had every right to be there. And it was only when he woke up for the fifth day in a row and thought of her before he even opened his eyes that he realized—he was completely and inexplicably in love with Sara Sidle.

That was the day the lab exploded.

It wasn't enough that she was injured. No, she had to scare the bejesus out of him twice in one day—first by nearly getting herself killed in the explosion, then by being reckless at a crime scene. He recalled the hard edge in his voice as he practically yelled, "Holster your weapon!" He doubted Sara would ever guess that it was fueled by pure terror for her safety. He had yelled at her, but that was only because he couldn't do what he wanted, nay, _needed_, to do—drop everything and take her in his arms to make sure she was really okay. He had wanted to wrap his arms around her tightly and cradle her against him. The thought of what could have happened at that crime scene still gave him occasional nightmares.

He was unceremoniously dragged back to the present as he realized Sara was talking to him. "He_-lllooo…_Brass…" she sing-songed, playfully waving a hand over his eyes.

Brass shook his head and smiled. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Sara grinned. "Nothing important. Just small talk, but I couldn't resist the urge to tease you when I realized you weren't even in the same universe." She flashed him another grin and shrugged. "I'll see you later." She turned to go, and in a completely unexpected moment of pure insanity, Brass reached out and grabbed her arm.

She turned back toward him and before he was even quite aware of what he was doing, he tilted his head and asked, "You're off tomorrow night, aren't you?"

She mirrored his head-tilt and wrinkled her eyebrows. "Yeah…" she drawled, wondering where he was going.

With no nervousness or hesitation whatsoever, Jim Brass threw all his chips in. "So am I. Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Sara froze in disbelief. She couldn't possibly have been more taken aback if _Nicky _had suddenly popped out of the woodwork and proceeded to sweep her into a passionate kiss. Up until this point, Jim Brass and _romantic notions_ didn't even belong in the same universe as far as she was concerned; yet, here she was, seriously considering his proposal. And to her surprise, the idea appealed to her. Slowly, she nodded. A faint smile began to spread across her lips as she replied, "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

Brass nodded calmly. "Great. I'll pick you up at seven. Dress casually."

"Okay. See you then." And with another smile and a light touch to his elbow, she was gone.

_Where the hell did that come from? _Brass wondered to himself. Rolling his eyes, he groaned inwardly at what he had to do next.

TBC…


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Sorry it took me a couple of days to post. I'm up to my neck in stuff right now. Let me reiterate, though: this is NOT a GSR story. No, Grissom will not come riding in on a white horse and sweep Sara off her feet. I'm extremely frustrated with Grissom's character right now, so I'm giving him what he deserves here! You all know that I'm an extreme fan of Geeklove (hence the name); this is just me venting. I do love me some Jim Brass, though.**

As he rapped his knuckles against Grissom's office door, Brass took a deep breath. This had the potential to be ugly. "Come in," Grissom called.

Brass pushed the door open and entered Grissom's inner sanctum. "What can I do for you, Jim?" Grissom asked, barely looking up. Brass sat down and plowed ahead.

"Gil, I need to talk to you—friend to friend." The serious tone in his voice caught Grissom's attention. He put his pen down, took off his glasses, and regarded Jim with narrowed eyes.

"This sounds serious."

Brass didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He simply plunged in head-first, heedless of the danger. "Gil, I just wanted to tell you that I'm taking Sara to dinner tomorrow night. I know how you feel about her—hell, we _all _know how you feel about her—but I also know that you're never going to act on it. You said it yourself to Lurie." Brass rubbed a big mitt over his eyes before continuing. "You're one of my closest friends, and I just didn't want you to hear it from someone else." Brass finished and looked up at his friend. Grissom was staring at him, expressionless. After a moment, during which Brass was sure time was crawling by at a tenth of its normal rate, Grissom opened his mouth.

"You're…taking Sara…to dinner." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes."

"And this is…a date. As in, not just a friendly dinner."

"That's correct. It is a date. It is not just a friendly dinner."

"You…care for her."

Brass stared his friend down. "I do. Very much."

Grissom sat back and blew out a huge breath. Brass was relieved to finally see a trace of emotion cross Grissom's face. He was pissed—and trying to hide it. "Well, what do you want me to do, Jim—pat you on the back?"

Brass bristled, then quickly gained control of his emotions. In a slow, steady voice, hinting at the anger underneath, he addressed his friend. "Gil, I came in here as a courtesy. I neither need nor desire your permission to take Sara to dinner. You've made it clear a thousand times, including just now in the lobby, when you barely glanced her way, that you intend to do nothing about your feelings for her. Being in love with her and not acting on it might make you an idiot, but it does _not_ make you a martyr. You have no claim on her and it's time you allowed her to get on with her life instead of throwing her a bone every now and then just to keep her close." With that last, Jim forcibly clamped his mouth shut, fearing he'd gone too far.

Grissom regarded him with wide eyes. Brass waited. Finally, Grissom spoke.

In a hoarse voice, laden with regret and tinged with weariness, he said, "You're right." He shrugged. "I love her, but I can't allow myself to do it." He paused, as if trying to work up the courage to say something else. Finally, while playing with a paper clip, "I apologize for what I said. It was out of line. I hope it…works out for you."

Brass rose from his seat, straightened his tie, and stuck his hand across the desk. "Thanks, Gil," he said firmly, trying to ignore the dead fish in his grip.

-

At 6:40 pm, Sara stood naked, save panties, inside her closet. Her hair was done and her makeup was on. Now for something to wear. "Dress casually." Right. Casual. What did that _mean? _Casual dressy or casual casual? She blew out a deep breath and decided to take him at his word—casual. There was almost no way she could go wrong with that. If he was taking her to a nice restaurant, he would have told her to dress nicely.

With a grunt of frustration and a hearty eye-roll, she rather roughly grabbed a white button-down shirt off its hanger. After a moment's thought, she paired it with a white silk bra, some faded jeans, a necklace of dark wooden beads, a single silver ring, and a comfortable pair of Birkenstocks. Adding a brown leather belt and her watch, she surveyed herself in the mirror. With a firm nod, she decided not to stress over it any longer. She looked good.

She grabbed her purse and walked into her living room to wait. She eyed the clock and grunted in frustration again. 6:45. "First dates suck," she muttered. Realizing her words, she raised a single eyebrow. First date? Would there be more? What on Earth was she doing? Jim Brass? Now _that_ was a man she'd never imagined herself with. A small smile played on her lips. Somehow, against all odds, it seemed right. She settled back on her couch and waited.

-

Brass enthusiastically drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he began the cross-town journey to pick Sara up at her apartment. He was in a phenomenal mood, which helped to quell his first-date jitters.

He stopped at a red light and proceeded to reach for his wallet to double-check that he had enough cash. Flipping it open, his eyes fell upon his most recent photo of Ellie—her seventh-grade picture. Seeing his daughter in her more innocent, carefree days caused a bittersweet smile to play upon his lips—until he made the inevitable connection: his daughter was only a few years younger than the woman he was about to take to dinner.

Brass groaned and proceeded to do the math in his head. _'Sara turned 33 in September and I just turned 52. Oh, dear God. Nineteen years. I'm trying to rob the fucking cradle here.' _He immediately began berating himself as the world's biggest lecher before his logical side won out and reasoned that Sara had agreed to see him outside of work. '_If the age was a problem for her, she would have declined my invitation.'_

He pulled into the parking lot of Sara's apartment complex and killed the ignition. He took a deep breath and blew it out before exiting his vehicle. _'Come on, Brass, you're 52, not 16. First-date jitters are not cool.'_

His nerves sufficiently calmed, he shut his door and started toward Sara's apartment. He knocked soundly and stood back.

After a moment, the door swung inward and there stood Sara Sidle, his date for the evening.

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: The Italian Village is the name of an actual, AMAZING restaurant in one of my favorite citiesChicago.**

Brass was taken aback by Sara's appearance. Besides the fact that she looked good—_damn_ good—he was shocked by how different she looked outside of work. It wasn't the jeans, the sandals, or even—oh, my—the button-down shirt left open right down to her cleavage. It was something else. The tiny, subtle lines that appeared in her face when she was really bothered by a case, the dead look in those eyes that had seen too much, the tension carried in knotted shoulders—all of those things were gone. She looked…_relaxed._ Her skin was smooth and supple, her eyes were clear and held a spark, and her body language indicated nothing but total ease. Brass made these observations in the split second it took for him to step forward to kiss her cheek after she opened the door to him.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Absolutely," came her reply.

As Sara stepped into the hallway and reached into her bag for her keys, she surreptitiously took him in. _'Wow,'_ she thought. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him in anything other than his usual suit, so his attire came as a surprise. He was dressed casually but conservatively in khaki pants and a light blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He wore brown loafers on his feet, giving him every air of a guy about to play a casual round of golf with the guys.

She finished locking the door behind her and fell into step with Jim. "So where are we going?" she inquired.

"Little place called The Italian Village. Best-kept secret in Vegas. I discovered it when I first moved here and was jonesing for a little piece of Jersey. It's a tiny, out of the way little dive, but the food is excellent. It's run by an _actual_ Italian family, believe it or not," he finished with a snort. "Most of the places back home were run by Italians who had been in the States for five generations. The people who own this place have only been here for about fifteen years. And yes," he added as an afterthought, "they _do_ have a vegetarian menu. Sound okay to you?"

Sara stared at him. "You knew I was a vegetarian?"

Brass chuckled. "How could I not know, after the hell you gave Grissom last time he forgot?" At the mention of Grissom's name, her face clouded for an instant, and Brass immediately felt the smile fall from his face. "Ugh, sorry," he apologized sincerely. "That was a rather intelligent move, huh?"

Sara laughed at his self-deprecation, and the tension fell away.

-

The restaurant was exactly as Brass described it—a tiny dive at the end of a rundown strip mall lost in the outskirts of Vegas. It certainly had character enough on the inside, with intimate booths and classic red-and-white checkered tablecloths, but it was by no means elegant.

Brass led Sara inside, asked the hostess for a table for two, and motioned Sara ahead when the hostess replied, "Right this way." He fell into step next to her, and Sara managed to keep her surprise in check when Brass slipped his hand into hers. As they reached a secluded booth at the back of the small restaurant, Brass released her hand to take his seat across from her. The hostess placed menus on the table, ran down the nightly specials, and finished with, "Your server will be with you in a moment."

Their server turned out to be an Italian beauty of about 18. Brass deduced that she was most likely the owners' daughter and had spent most of her life in the States. When she asked if she could bring them some wine, Sara was surprised at Brass' enthusiastic nod. "The house table wine, please," he requested.

He looked up at Sara and caught her raised eyebrow. Responding to her unspoken question, he locked his eyes on hers. "It's under control?" he asked. Sara nodded silently. "Then I'm not worried about it," he said quietly, an air of finality about his voice. Sara wondered then if he knew about her near-DUI or if he was just referring to their conversation about more problems than answers being in the bottom of a bottle. She decided that this was not the opportune time to discuss it.

-

Brass might have been honest about the restaurant's unique…atmosphere, but he had certainly been less than truthful about the food quality. That is to say, "excellent" just didn't cut it. Every time Sara took a bite of her fettuccine alfredo, she was certain her mouth was having an orgasm. The entire meal had been much the same. The salad, with its tangy house-made Italian dressing, had been fresh, crisp, and satisfying. The homemade bread was perfect—neither too hard, nor too doughy. And the main course? Ah, it was heaven on a plate. Sara and Brass had both chosen the fettuccine alfredo, despite her repeated assurances that he was more than welcome to order something with meat in it. "No, really, the alfredo sauce is amazing," he had said.

The most surprising thing about dinner was not the food, however. It was the decided _lack _of tension in the conversation. Try as she might, Sara couldn't help letting her thoughts wander back to Grissom. If this had been dinner with him, she mused, it would have taken all of ten minutes of awkward, strained conversation before one or both of them crawled right back into their respective shells and shut down. That, or an offhand comment would have been taken the wrong way, leaving someone pissed off. But with Jim, it was different. They had a lighthearted, easy banter with no pressure and no tension. He seemed genuinely interested in _her, _Sara Sidle, not just getting her into bed. He wanted to know more about her background—how had she liked living in his native New England during college? How did she go from being a physics major to a criminalist? What did she like to do when she wasn't at work? In turn, she found out more about Jim Brass, the person, not just Jim Brass, the homicide detective. She was surprised at what she found out: he preferred comedies to dramas ("I get enough drama at work, thanks."), he had a weakness for chocolate ice cream, and he was a rabid sports fan ("The Nets, the Giants, and the Mets—I hate the damn Yankees," he grumbled.).

It was during dessert, when Brass was in the middle of a dissertation on the finer points of _Monty Python_, that Sara looked across the table and had one of the more shocking epiphanies of her life. She could actually see herself falling in love with this man.

-

The ride back to Sara's apartment was full of the same easy banter that had dominated their dinner conversation—until Brass pulled into Sara's parking lot. As he shut off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, the same thought descended on both of them simultaneously: _What now?_ Rounding the front of the car, he placed his hand gently at Sara's back as she closed her car door behind her.

'_What now, what now, what now?' _she chanted in her head as she nervously twisted her purse strap. Brass picked up on her nervousness and made his decision. He would accompany her to her door, give her a good-night kiss on the cheek, thank her for a wonderful evening, and be on his way. He had waited a long time for tonight; he would gladly wait longer for the physical relationship, if any, to come. Pressure was not his style, at least not outside of the interrogation room.

They reached her front door and Sara fumbled for a moment with her keys. Finally managing to locate the correct one, she slipped it into the lock. As she did so, she turned back to Brass. Before she could speak, Brass took the initiative. Flashing a warm, genuine smile, he said, "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Sara. I really enjoyed it." With that, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, but at the last moment, Sara turned, giving him access to her lips. He paused slightly, giving her time to back out, before proceeding. The kiss, Sara was certain, was one of the warmest, gentlest kisses she had ever received. Their lips parted slightly, but no tongue was introduced. Brass lingered a moment before pulling away, eyes still closed. When he opened them, he found himself staring into Sara's big brown eyes. "That was…nice," he murmured appreciatively.

"Mmm," Sara agreed, before taking a deep breath and jumping in head-first. "Jim…would you like to come in?"

Brass searched her eyes. "You're sure?"

A nod. She was becoming more certain with each passing moment. "Yeah. I am."

Brass nodded back. "Okay, then. I think I'd like that very much."

TBC…


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: Sorry this took so long!**

Brass leaned against the counter of the breakfast bar as Sara opened a cabinet and removed a coffee filter. When she reached for the canister of coffee, she cursed suddenly. "Shit!"

"What?" Brass asked, mildly amused.

"I completely forgot that I'm almost completely out of coffee." She shook the almost-empty canister to make her point. "I've got enough to make probably two cups." She blew out an exasperated breath and smacked her hand against her forehead in an exaggerated show of frustration with herself.

Jim chuckled. "Well…I noticed a drugstore and a Blockbuster around the corner. I'll go pick up some coffee and get a movie while I'm at it, if that's okay with you. I'll be gone twenty minutes, tops. How's that sound?" he asked soothingly.

Sara dropped her shoulders and smiled appreciatively. "Sounds great. I've got some chocolate ice cream in the freezer. I'll have you a scoop ready when you get back."

As he backed toward the door, Jim clutched his hands to his chest. "A woman after my own heart," he drawled.

-

Sara stood in her closet yet again, contemplating her attire for the second time that evening. She wanted to change into something more comfortable, but she didn't want to send the wrong message. A skimpy tank top and shorts could too easily say, "Hi, I'm a slut. Fuck me." Her ratty old Harvard tee and sweats could be misinterpreted as, "I'm slumming and I plan to fall asleep in the middle of this movie. Let's have a slumber party!" She finally opened a drawer and pulled out a long-sleeved black t-shirt and matching cotton drawstring pants. At least she would match. And she would be comfortable, too, all cottony and snug—perfect for a movie.

She had been nervous when they reached the parking lot, unsure of his expectations. However, his utterly gentlemanly manner had quickly reassured her, and she was glad she had decided to ask him up. She was still uncertain as to where things would take them this evening, but at least she felt that there would be no pressure.

She padded back into the kitchen in her bare feet and pulled a carton of chocolate ice cream out of her freezer. As she placed generous scoops into two bowls, she was surprised to find herself humming a nonsensical tune. Just as she was debating whether or not chocolate syrup on chocolate ice cream would be overkill, a knock sounded at the door. "It's unlocked!" she shouted as she grabbed two spoons from a drawer.

Turning around, she watched Brass walk in the door, plastic shopping bag in one hand, two Blockbuster DVD cases in the other. "What'd you get?" she asked enthusiastically.

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as he replied, "Well, I know I told you I'm not a big drama fan, but I wasn't sure about your taste in comedies, so I got one comedy and one drama." He stepped into the kitchen and put the bag containing the coffee on the counter before turning back to her, movies in hand. "Behind door number one, we have a romantic comedy starring the prostitute-loving Hugh Grant: _Notting Hill. _And behind door number two, we have the always-gory but ever-fascinating classic, _The Silence of the Lambs._ A must-see for all criminalists. Either choice tickle your fancy, young lady?"

Sara laughed, a deep, throaty sound that instantly elicited a tingle from Jim's crotch. "Hmm…" she said, tapping her finger to her mouth in mock-concentration. Her look of contemplation morphed into a mischievous grin. "Well," she drawled, "we _do _need to stay up pretty late, so our schedules don't get messed up. So…I say we watch both. _Silence of the Lambs _first, then the comedy for relief after we're all creeped out. First one to fall asleep buys dinner next time!" she finished triumphantly.

The last two words pretty much caused everything in Jim's head to go hazy. _Next time. There'll be a next time. Too damn good to be true._ He finally gathered himself, grinned, and said, "You're on. But I warn you. I have expensive taste." And with a wink, he grabbed his ice cream bowl and headed to the living room, leaving Sara to tackle the coffee.

-

Since the first-date touch barrier had been broken earlier at the restaurant, Jim was able to slide his arm around Sara's shoulders when they sat down with a minimum of awkwardness. As the opening titles flashed across the screen, Sara shivered with pleasure and proclaimed that as disturbing as the movie was, she always enjoyed it. "I find it a little strange that I like it so much, knowing all that I know about the depravity of real-life criminals, you know?" she mused. Jim squeezed her shoulders a little tighter and kissed her temple.

They sat in silence, enjoying the opening scenes of the movie, until they finished their scoops of ice cream. Sara reached out and placed the empty bowls on the coffee table in front of them, and when she sat back, Jim was surprised to find that rather than resuming her position directly next to him, she snuggled deep into him, wrapping his right arm even more tightly around her.

-

"_It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again._" Jim felt Sara stiffen slightly at Buffalo Bill's creepy rhyme, and he squeezed her warm body just a little tighter. She had displayed slight discomfort at several points during the movie, and each time he had tightened his grip on her. She never acknowledged this, and Jim didn't bring it up. He had a feeling she would consider it a weakness to admit that the movie, however enjoyable, creeped her out.

As the end credits rolled, Sara yawned before laughing out loud and declaring that Jim would not win the bet that easily. "Bring on the romantic comedy!" she cried. "What's it about, anyway? I don't think I've heard of it."

Jim flipped the DVD case over and read the synopsis on the back. "Julia Roberts plays a Hollywood superstar—how original," he remarked wryly. He continued, "who falls in love with your everyday Joe—that's Hugh Grant. Can their romance survive with the entire world watching? It says here that it was directed by the same guy who did _Bridget Jones' Diary _and _Wimbledon._"

Sara pursed her lips. "Sounds good. Put it in. I think I'm going to get another cup of coffee. You want one?"

Jim shook his head. He'd never admit it to her, but there was no way he was going to risk winning this bet. He was too old-school to let her pay for a date.

Sara returned moments later with a fresh cup of joe and plopped down besides Brass. Feeling ever more comfortable with him, she leaned up against him with a casual air that would have led an observer to think they had been together for months rather than hours. He, likewise feeling at ease, ran his fingers through her hair in a gentle gesture of affection that made her skin tingle. She grabbed the DVD remote and pressed play.

-

An hour and a half later, the movie was more or less forgotten. At one of the funnier points in the film, Sara had tilted her head back and looked up at Jim as she laughed, and he had lost it. Her beauty overtook him, and he leaned down and claimed her lips with his own in a crushing kiss that took her breath away. She had gasped into his mouth with pleasure and returned the kiss with fervor, tangling her tongue with his in ways he was quite sure no woman had ever done before. After a moment or so, she had reached up for his lapels, turned her body to the side, and leaned backward on the couch, taking him with her.

And twenty minutes later, here he was—lying on top of Sara Sidle on her couch, kissing her senseless. He was doing everything in his power to keep his hands from roaming; his old-fashioned sense of nobility dictated that she should call the shots on their physical relationship. However, when she reached for his shirt and began hungrily unbuttoning it, he was undone. This woman had officially brought him to his knees.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and held her tightly before allowing his hands to steal up the back of her black t-shirt. Finding her bra clasp, he made quick work of it before reaching back down to the hem of her t-shirt. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, silently asking permission. She nodded almost imperceptibly and he pulled the t-shirt over her head, revealing the white silk bra beneath.

He reached for the strap on her left shoulder and prepared to slip it down her arm when she stopped him.

"I can think of somewhere more comfortable to do this," she whispered, nodding toward her bedroom. Slipping from beneath him, she pulled him to his feet.

TBC…


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: I think I'm going to dedicate this bad boy to Leslie, just for the halibut, because the entire idea of Jim and Sara smut totally grosses her out. The sad thing is, she probably won't even see this. It's too bad, too, because as mild as it is, it's probably the smuttiest thing I've ever written. So here's to you, Passion Flower! **

As Sara took his hands and walked backwards, leading him toward her bedroom, Brass couldn't help but feel that he was trapped in an enchanting dream. His hands were clasped in the long, thin fingers of a half-naked Sara Sidle, and she was taking him to bed. She was shirtless, and her unclasped bra was hanging loosely from her shoulders, affording tantalizing glimpses of her breasts as she walked. As Sara nudged her bedroom door open, Jim Brass tried to force his brain to slow down and accept the impossibility of what was happening—that in a very short period of time, he was going to be making love to the woman he had fantasized about so often over the past couple of years.

Oh, yes. Life was good indeed.

As they crossed the threshold into her bedroom, she resumed her task of unbuttoning his shirt. When she was done, she slipped the soft blue garment from his shoulders, leaving him in only his t-shirt and khakis. When she reached for his belt, his unfortunate sense of propriety kicked in, and he practically groaned with self-loathing as he stilled her hands. Nonetheless, he had to be sure she was sure, or he would never forgive himself. "Sara," he murmured softly. "Before we take this any further, I just want to make sure you're okay with this. If you're uncomfortable in any way, we can stop."

She coupled a hearty snort with a coy grin as she placed her right hand against his left cheek. She affected a Scarlett O'Hara drawl. "Why, Mr. Brass, your genteel nature is most endearing, but considering that I myself have dragged you into my bedroom, I think you can alleviate yourself of any fears that you have pressured me into this situation of debauchery." The truth was, she _did _appreciate his gentlemanly nature. If his obvious arousal was any indication, stopping her when he did must have been, ahem, hard. The fact that he was concerned with her well-being and comfort only fueled her growing desire for him. She softened her voice, dropping the faux accent. "Thank you, Jim," she murmured, "but I promise you I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now."

And with that, it was on. His fears properly allayed, Brass assaulted her mouth once more, propelling them both toward the bed. Sara resumed work on his pants, shedding his belt in record time and making quick work of the button and zipper on the khakis. As his pants dropped to the floor, Brass finally reached back up to Sara's bra straps. Sliding them down her arms, he revealed her milky-white skin at last, which he immediately set to work upon. Sara relieved him of his t-shirt, leaving him only in his boxers. Jim, after thoroughly working over her shoulders and breasts, began to kiss his way down her belly, toward the top of her black cotton pants. When he reached the hem, he tugged at the drawstring with his teeth, making Sara giggle. Her giggles faded into a soft gasp when he began to slowly, sensuously tug the pants down her legs, revealing plain black panties—cotton, bikini cut. Simple, like Sara. Brass thought they were the sexiest panties he'd ever laid eyes on.

When he had freed her legs of the offending pants, he paused before deciding that they were in no hurry; thus there was no reason to rid her of her panties in such quick fashion. He stealthily made his way back up her legs and kissed her belly gently before gripping the sides of her rib cage with his strong hands. Pressing himself down atop her, he let her feel his arousal as he kissed her hard and long. Sara, however, seemed to disagree with Jim's "no hurry" outlook on things, and he felt her long fingers grip the waistband of his boxers and shove them south. Their progress was impeded by Jim's weight pressed against Sara, and he quickly pushed himself up to allow his shorts passage down his legs. Any resolution he had made to attempt to draw things out was obliterated, and he pressed his mouth to Sara's belly once again as he prepared to divest her of the last scrap of material remaining between them. As he licked and kissed his way down her abdomen, he grasped her panties between his thick fingers and slipped them gently downward. Sara sucked in a breath as his lips skirted over the small, dark patch of hair that was revealed.

Moments later, when he finally entered her and began to move, the silence remained unbroken. Not a word had been uttered since they hit the bed, and somehow, it seemed just right that way. They had all the time in the world to talk; now was the time for _doing. _He dipped his head down and nipped at her collarbone as he continued to move, still not quite comprehending the idea that he was making love to Sara Sidle, the woman of his dreams.

When her breathing began to quicken and her low moans intensified in volume, the entire thing became surreal once again. If Jim had believed in things like astral projection, he would have been sure that he was having an out-of-body experience; as it was, he was convinced that he was on one fucked-up trip, because there was no way in hell that anything drug-free could possibly feel this good.

When she arched up beneath him with a gasp and gripped his shoulders until her knuckles turned white, Brass realized that this was the most mind-blowing, apocalyptic sex he'd ever had.

Everything slowed as Jim Brass tried to wrap his brain around the fact that Sara Sidle was having an orgasm underneath him, but the fact that there was no blood whatsoever anywhere near his brain caused him to give up momentarily and give in to the crush of his own release.

It took them both a good five minutes to recover. As they lay there on the damp sheets, still breathing quickly, Sara was the first to speak.

"Umm…wow," was all she could really muster.

"You can say that again," Jim panted in reply.

"Wow," Sara said again, then snorted at her wit.

Jim slid over and pulled Sara into his arms. As he felt sleep begin to overtake him, he mumbled against her hair, "I think I'm going to have to lose the bet, because I'm falling asleep. Next time, dinner's on me."

Sara smiled against his bare chest. "Deal. Jim?"

"Mmm?"

"Does that mean we can do this again sometime?"


End file.
